Hi! It being the holiday season, I thought I’d take a break from websites and projects to share a cute (or so I hope) Christmas story from when I was but a wee kitten. Enjoy!
Like many children at around the age of 6, I really believed there existed a jolly and magical guy named Santa Claus. I would do all the typical kid things such as having a hard time falling asleep on Christmas Eve and leaving cookies and milk for Santa Claus.
For a few years in a row – I would say ages five to nine – on each Christmas Eve, I would write a letter to Santa and leave it next to the cookies and milk that my mother had helped me make or buy. One of the questions that I remember was whether or not Mr. Claus had back-up reindeers in case some of his main reindeers got sick or hurt and couldn’t make it on Christmas Day. I was a very curious child!
Fast forward a few years. It was not long after New Year’s Day when I came down with a nasty cold and had to stay home from school for three days. On the day I was to return to school, my mother wrote a sick note and gave it to me to hand to the teacher. This was a normal procedure back then.
In the bus on the way to school, I got bored and decided to peek at the note. The note was inside an envelope; its flap was tucked inside rather than licked shut. So I opened it. There was nothing special about what the note said. It was just a formality, basically stating that I had been sick the previous three days. Something caught my eye. The handwriting looked very familiar… it was a very elegant, flowing cursive. Is… is that Mr. Claus’ handwriting? If so, why did it end with my mother’s name?!
When I got home, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table. Before she could ask me how my day went, I angrily informed her of my shocking discovery. I demanded an explanation. She took it lightly, saying something like, “Oh, wow, Santa and I have a very similar handwriting!”. She’d grin at me in amazement as if that was really interesting and then she’d go about her business.
This having taken place a mere month after Christmas, I had written to Santa and he had responded, so I still had his letter. When my mother wasn’t looking, I searched for anything that had her handwriting. (Remember, I had given the sick note to the teacher.) I found one of Mom’s handwritten draft notes and scrutinized over it, like what a professional forensic handwriting analyst would do. I held both letters to the lamp’s light, overlapping one over the other. I pored over both papers. Yep. Confirmed. 100%. No… 200%! Mr. Claus’ and my mother’s handwriting were one and the same. Not “similar” as my mother so innocently claimed. I was crestfallen, needless to say! Naturally, I never wrote to Santa again.
By the time I was a pre-teen, I would roll my eyes at the mention of Santa or mirthlessly humor whoever talked about him as if he were real. Like the older kids before me, I told the (poor) younger kids that no, sorry, Santa isn’t real. For evidence, I recounted my earth-shattering discovery. Most ignored me or were skeptical of my evidence. I still enjoyed Christmas days, though, only because I was anticipating gifts like a greedy kid that I was!
As I got older, my jaded and miffed thoughts about Santa Claus gradually changed. I believe in Santa Claus now. Yes, he DOES exist! Just not as an actual bearded rotund man who lives in North Pole. I believe in love, generosity, friendship, giving, sharing, and laughter… That IS Santa Claus; he is the living and breathing personification of those.
I hope you enjoyed this. Happy Ho-ho-holidays and Happy New Year, everyone! Be well and stay safe. If you live where it’s cold, bundle up and keep yourself warm!
—Tabby